Slow down the years. They fly as fast
as arrows. Four score gone. And ten
more winters swallowed by a past
infertile with unanswered prayer.
Savour those shining seconds when
we share a breath. They fade so fast
as age succumbs to death’s cold stare.
Red-eyed with watching News at 10
we checklist errors from the past
recataloguing pain and care,
old tears and sorrows (yet again).
Enjoy the years. They fly as fast
as wind-blown clouds and thinning hair.
Pick up your notebook and a pen.
Refuse to wallow in a past
imperfect. I will dare to dare.
The future may be short and then…?
No time to grovel in the past.
Slow down the years. They fly too fast.